[first lines]
Chorus:
[lights a match]
O, for a Muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention...
[switches on the lights to a soundstage, and walks across it]
Chorus:
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act and monarchs to behold the swelling scene. Then should the war-like Harry, like himself, assume the port of Mars, and at his heels, leashed in like hounds, should Famine, Sword, and Fire crouch for employment. But pardon, Gentles all, the flat unraised Spirits that hath dared, on this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth so great an object. Can this cockpit hold the vast fields of France? Or may we cram within this wooden O, the very casques that did affright the air at Agincourt? O, pardon. And let us, cyphers to this great accompt, on your imaginary forces work. For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our Kings, carry them here and there, jumping over times, turning the accomplishment of many years into an hourglass. For the which supply, admit me Chorus to this history. Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray: gently to hear, kindly to judge... our Play!
[opens the doors to the English court]
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05/03/2025 alle ore 08:19
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